


It Was Fraser, In Chicago, With The Knife

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-06-06
Updated: 1999-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-11 04:26:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11140998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Kowalski is frustrated because he REALLY wants to polish Benny's blade.





	It Was Fraser, In Chicago, With The Knife

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

It Was Fraser, In Chicago, With The Knife

I'm still new at this fan fiction thing, so be kind. Thanks to Obsidian Rogue for inspiration (when are you going to finish YOUR story?). Please send feedback (good or bad, I'll take anything) to. (Right <sob>, nobody ever talks to me!)

Insert standard disclaimer here. Rated R for implied m/m relations.

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It Was Fraser, In Chicago, With The Knife

By Soul Spinner

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"Oh, come on Frase! Yer drivin' me nuts!" Stanley Ray Kowalski wailed. The wolf in the back of the GTO howled in sympathy. Kowalski dug around in his pocket and threw the last bite of his partially melted chocolate bar back to Diefenbaker.

"Really, Ray," the incredibly irritating, and astoundingly sexy (to Ray, anyway) Mountie said, "I'm sure you're exaggerating. And you shouldn't cater to him like that. He's getting soft," Fraser admonished. Dief whined, licking the chocolate from his snout in contentment. Fraser glanced back at his long-time companion suspiciously. For a supposedly deaf wolf, he always seemed to know what Benton was saying...

"Fraser, forget the mutt! Why did you have to do this now? It's not like a life or death situation here."

"On the contrary, Ray. One never knows when something might be needed. A Mountie must always keep his gear in tip top shape."

"Tip top...?" Kowalski glanced incredulously at his friend, but Benny seemed to be quite serious. He shook his head, bemused. Nobody said tip top anymore. "Izzat somethin' from yer Mountie manual?"

"Why, yes, Ray, I'm glad you asked," Fraser settled into his 'long, boring lecture about esoteric things you never really wanted to know about' voice. "Regulation 157-B. You know, there is a very good reason for that regulation. Back in 1892, in a small Inuit village named"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Fraser! Do I really look like I care? You are the most annoying and-and...FRUSTRATING man I have ever met. Like earlier, fer instance. Ya come inta the stattion, in yer little red coat, sashshay over ta my desk, lean over close ta me, and say 'Ray, I need to polish my blade,' fer chrissakes!"

The Canadian looked confused. "But I really do need to. It needs sharpening, as well."

"Gawd, Fraser! Do you have any idea how that sounds?! I mean, I didn't think ya REALLY wanted ta polish yer knife..."

"Ray, Ray, Ray-"

"Drivin' ya all over town to find the perfect polish..."

"RAY! Pedestrian!" Fraser shouted and held on for dear life. Kowalski's driving could be more dangerous than an arctic blizzard.

The detective swerved sharply and narrowly missed a woman with her arms full of groceries. She immediately began swearing and cursing at them in Chinese.

"Sorry!" Fraser called out the window, but they went by so fast that she probably couldn't hear him. They pulled to a stop at a red light and Fraser shifted a little to better observe his partner. Kowalski was gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles were white. He was breathing hard, causing his chest to rise and fall. Benny watched his tight shirt play over his muscles before raising his eyes to Stanley's face.

The detective slowly turned to look at him and growled, "Get out."

"But, Ray..." Fraser decided it was time to pull out the big guns. He gave Kowalski what his former partner, Ray Vecchio, had called "The Big-Eyed Mountie Look."

Ray melted. He could never resist the other man. "Freak," he stated and accelerated through the intersection as soon as the light turned green.

"Ray?" Fraser tentatively put a hand on Kowalski's inner thigh.

"I fergive ya," Stanley sighed. Fraser smiled happily. He raised his hand to stroke Ray's face, feeling the rough stubble with the sensitive tips of his fingers. Ray sighed again, briefly closed his eyes, and nuzzled the hand of his lover.

Kowalski finally pulled up in front of the Consulate. "Thank you kindly for the lift, Ray." Fraser bounded out of the car, then pushed the seat forward so Dief could get out as well.

"So," Ray said huskily, "I'm gonna see ya tonight . . . right?" Kowalski knew that his insecurity was showing, but he just couldn't help it. If Benny ever left him . . . well, he didn't think he would survive it.

"Of course, lover," Fraser said. Then his eyes twinkled mischievously and he decided to tease Ray. "We can play a game. Maybe Monopoly or Clue," he deadpanned. Then he heard Inspector Thatcher's irate voice from all the way outside the Consulate and he winced. With a final "Bye Ray!" he was gone.

" . . . Clue?" Kowalski blinked. The Mountie wasn't seriouswas he? There were enough real life murders as it was!?! Ray groaned, screwed his eyes shut, and knocked his head against the steering wheel a few times. Fraser was going to kill him yet. "Yeah," he whimpered, shifting his WAY too tight jeans to ease the inevitable result of any time spent with Benny, "It was Fraser, in Chicago, with the knife." Then he sighed in frustration at the thought of Fraser sticking him and banged his head a few more times.

Diefenbaker watched the aroused detective and whined, empathizing with the poor guy. Then his thoughts turned to the smell of cinnamon bun emanating from Constable Turnball's desk. With a final thought of thanks for being a simple wolf, Dief went to go get his gratification. SOMEONE should.

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The End

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Note: Yeah, yeah, I haven't been getting any. Wanna make something of it? Huh!?! Do ya, punk!? I'm warning you, I watch Kung Fu! Sorry <ahem>, I really need to sleep. Yes, alone, dammit! 


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